Did my self-delusion waver when I was climbing up the ladder and onto the plexiglass platform in my evening dress and heels?
Or was it when I was playing the white grand piano on that plexiglass platform, suspended eight feet over the bar of a downtown Atlanta restaurant?
I think neither. I think that the entire time, I believed that the fact that I was making money playing music meant that my career was headed in the right direction.
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